Novels

Excerpt from OUTRAGE
PROLOGUE            
SUNRISE
It was not the dim lights which formed two parallel lines in the cloud just above Fanty  Okrobiye Moffie’s head that woke her up.  Ebiye, her husband’s sister had put the bush lamp up on one of the bamboo stands by the mud wall of their hut to light up the compound. She always did that during festive periods, especially when the moon refused to stay up till the early hours of the morning. Anyone who knew Ebiye and her mysterious powers would not question her obsessions. Even though the rays of light from the bush lamp would penetrate Fanty’s room through the small window of her hut, she had since learnt to accept the things she could not change, to expect and even enjoy them. The light did penetrate her room this time as it always did, but that was not what woke Fanty up.  It was not even the throaty crow of one of her fat cocks which delighted her every morning with his strong, clearly masculine tone that usually tickled the hens in her compound every morning that woke Fanty up. It was not the town crier’s excited voice either as he relayed the news of the festival of ‘calming waters’ for the umpteenth time.  The town crier had announced it unceasingly every morning and night for six market weeks until he got every household into a frenzy with preparations and expectations. It was not even her husband’s ardent thrusts when the darkness was still quite thick that woke her up. Fanty had been awake long before all of these. As soon as the poetic song of the young maidens, the song she taught them a couple of weeks ago, started playing in the region of her mind which was quite central to her being, she stirred, aware that she was both awake and asleep at the same time. But she first danced to the song in her subconscious state, holding her bare breasts in the cup of her hands so that her nipples pushed out, thrusting their questions into the palms of her hands. She had not had time to attend to them just then for the song was waiting by the door of her lips:
            You may come to me, Ogharefe, Ilaje, Kwale, you may as well come
            Come into the circle where the ancestors are seated
            With the golden egg fit for princes and princesses like you and me

            Step into joy, Kiagbodo, Olomoro, Egbeje 
            Call your sisters in, it is the feast of giving, of sweetness
            Hold hands and dance to your gods, Eket, Brass, Degema

            Eh ooo, who will not affirm that the dance of oneness
            Has been with your feet since you were conceived
            That beauty took its first breath in your homestead

            You may come to me, paragon of beauty
            Speak to me of the joys of our mating
            Under the moonlight by the palm plantation

            Beholding you always makes my mouth water
            At every feast you make me dance all day
            Flinging my troubles further away

            Eh ooo, who will not affirm that the dance of oneness
            Has been with your feet since you were conceived
            That beauty took its first breath in your homestead.

Her eyes opened as she sang and listened to her voice, which she was told was like that of the guinea fowl, mellifluous, penetrating. Fanty knew then that she was wide awake. She was a woman that liked to dance on the threshold of history and she could swear that she danced then on her bed of straw and mouthed the song until her husband, Youpele, heard and first put a hand over her hand, then a leg over hers and soon her wrapper gave way to his prodding and she did his bidding heartily until he sang in his mother tongue as he always did when the song became too hot for any other tongue to handle. He would call her his delicious fruit, and his soul mate through life’s journeys. She knew that as many times as she returned to this earth, she would seek him out and insist that they never be separated. She had always known that he was good for her, a man that did not only share her inmost feelings but would lead her through the labyrinths of his thoughts including those that were the preserve of their ancestors. Once Youpele was privileged to enjoy great visions, she must also enjoy the same for since they did not have a child for so long, he thought they should share all they had and enjoy the superiority of unbroken friendship. Yet he was not a man against the traditions of his people. Instead he insisted on celebrating the good he found around him, and the gift of love he was given by his people was his  strongest point.  It was as if every morning, he held it up, looked it over and embraced it again and again. He was nearing fifty-five and she was in her early forties. Their marriage had lasted twenty years already, and not once did her stomach swell with a child, yet when he held her in his arms and told her things meant only for her ears, anyone watching would think they got married only a day before and had everything going well for them.
Maybe, they did in some ways, for they were both successful farmers and fishermen. Youpele especially had deft fingers. Once he threw his net into the waters, he was bound to catch hordes of fish, some of which Fanty would roast and sell after many customers would have bought the fresh ones off her even before she got home. Everyone knew that her fish never lasted more than a day in her hands; they would  be sold off before she thought of using preservatives for them. She had to divide her time between farming and fishing with her husband; and since she didn’t have enough time to go to the market after the fishing, she never missed any opportunity to sell to the traders who came to her very early in the mornings to buy her fish wholesale and re-sell  to retailers. Thereafter, she would go to the farm. She always had to hire help to tend her pineapple orchard and cashew plantation. Occasionally, she would prepare delicacies from processed cassava for the workers, which they would eat with banga soup, and thank her for the treat.  When she did not have enough time to do elaborate cooking for them, she would simply take out many tubers of yam from her husband’s large barn and roast for them. They would eat it with red oil garnished with local spices. But the morning she woke up with a song was going to be exceptional. She